The Secret Society [Zarry] [SAMPLE]

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Disclaimer: any events, actions, relationships and/or characters in this story are a work of fiction. How I portray the members of One Direction is not equal to how they are in actuality and nor is it meant to seem that way. I do not own One Direction.

Okay, now that's cleared up: I'm so excited about this story, you have no idea! I really hope you like it. Zayn is as innocent as ever, of course, because he always bottoms in my mind. *ahem*

Dedicated to GemmaStar so she can know that I've uploaded this. (Big love to you!) xx

Enjoy! I love all of you wonderful people. xxx

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Zayn Malik never wanted to go to a new school. On the contrary, he is entirely happy back at home in his public school as opposed to this comprehensive, private, all-boys boarding school that he stares up at now, feeling the remnants of his peanut butter and jam sandwich curdling in his gut. He is entirely too far away from home - from Bradford - and the thought terrifies him because he'll be separated from his mother and father and sisters by miles and miles... When will he ever see them? he thinks, and finds himself stuck between whether he should bear through this horrendous ordeal and attend the school obediently, or whether he wants to run away screaming and cling to his mother for dear life.

The latter wins.

"Mum," he says, his voice muffled in the crook of her neck, "please don't make me go!"

The thought of even taking one more step closer to the huge, grey-bricked building in front of him makes Zayn want to curl up and die. His stomach is woosy and he feels clammy, as if he is actually ill, and he thinks if he stops crushing his mother in his arms he really will tumble over and crack open his spinning head. He's overreacting and he knows it but he's not going to see his family in months, and why is that fair? Why should he be left all alone in Cheshire in the middle of nowhere, left to fend for himself and to live completely alone?! Well, actually, he'll have a roommate - he's not sure if that eases up the fear inside of him or only angers it.

Either way, he's not letting go of his mother.

Mrs. Malik then, of course, feels her throat tighten a little because she wont get to see her baby boy in so long and he's so reluctant to go, so unhappy, so maybe it is best to withdraw him and let him return home... "Oh, baby," she coos, stroking down his hair. "Listen, love, this is for the best; you need to become independent. You need to - to grow. To mature."

Zayn has heard this reasoning so many times now; though the voice is his mother's, the words aren't. "Just because Dad says so," he says, lifting his head up to look at her, "doesn't mean he's right."

To be honest, Zayn is pretty sure his father is concerned that his son is turning into a 'puff' or something - someone soft and mushy and baby-like. It's stupid, really; just because Zayn likes drawing and doesn't really play sport and loves his mother and, you know, bakes cookies with her sometimes... Well, anyway, it's stupid. Not all boys like mud and wrestling with each other; that would muck up Zayn's hair if he ever did that, which is a concept more terrifying than entering the school currently looming in front of him.

Zayn's mother sighs then smiles sympathetically at her son. "One term [A/N: In America, that's called a semester, I think]," she negotiates. "One term and if you really hate it, I'll withdraw you."

"One whole term?"

"I think this will be good for you, Zayn." Mrs. Malik is now trying to pry her son off her body; he clings to her like a leech, so much so he shakes from exertion until he finally submits and lets her push him away, the two of their bodies sagging a little from the sudden separation. "Trust me, honey. This is a good thing."

Zayn wants to argue that getting torn away from everything and everyone you love and know is not a good thing but knows that pointing that out will probably make his mother start to cry, an urge she is barely repressing. So, instead, he says, "Okay, Mum. I love you."

"I love you too, baby," she replies, and kisses him on the forehead for the hundredth time that hour. "Be good as always, okay? I'll see you when the term ends."

"I'll be good." Zayn watches as his mother climbs into the back of the taxi, his heart dropping to his stomach and entangling with his intestines. He is glad, for a moment, when he sees the door shut behind her because that means he wont have to speak to her again so she wont hear the way his voice cracks but the moment passes quickly and then his eyes are burning because this is the last time he'll see her face for weeks. "Love you," he whispers, dejectedly waving at her through the window.

She smiles sadly, her eyes tearing up and blurring her vision, then blows him a kiss and waves back until the taxi starts moving and she's gone with Zayn staring after her in the direction she disappears in. A few tears fall which he doesn't bother wiping away - well, not until someone clears their throat behind him and he quickly rubs at them, not wanting to look like an idiot.

"Hi," the person says, cocking their head at Zayn once he has turned around. "I'm Louis."

Zayn clears his throat, feeling small and coy. "I'm Zayn," he mumbles, biting on his lip afterwards and glancing up at 'Louis'; the boy is fairly short with bright blue eyes and a wide smile and a sort of feathery hairstyle, the colour of hazelnut. "Where's Mrs. Jones?"

Upon being accepted into such a private school, Zayn had been told he'd be greeted at one o'clock (the exact time it is now) at the main entrance (where he is now) by Mrs. Jones, the Head Teacher. He's more than a little surprised to see Louis here instead, his eyes sparkling mischievously whilst he inspects Zayn: the wide, caramel eyes; the prominent cheekbones and chiselled jaw; the sparkle of innocence surrounding his thin frame.

Oh yeah, Louis thinks, The Society is definitely going to be after him.

"She was called into a important meeting and asked me to greet you, instead, considering I'll be your roommate for the next few months."

With his heart thumping, Zayn shakily squeaks, "R-Roommate?" thinking that maybe he'd heard Louis wrong.

He hadnt. "Yep!" Louis chirps. Without another thought, he tugs up Zayn's suitcase with one, strong pull and grins dazzlingly at his new roommate; he'd been alone all of last year and the thought of sharing a room with someone is very appealing. "Now, come on! You've got to get settled before I can show you around. There's a lot to this place; don't worry, I'm sure you'll only get lost, like, once."

Zayn scurries to keep up with the boy who is suddenly five paces ahead, his legs jerking in an odd sort of run to reach Louis' side as he simultaneously hitches his bag up on his shoulder. "Lost?"

Louis looks back at Zayn and grins again, looking terribly happy and unsympathetic. "You'll be fine, Zayn! I'll show you the ropes." Particularly the worst ones, Louis thinks; The Society will be after him from the second they see him. "Just keep moving: room first, talk later."

He's quite spunky, Louis, is what Zayn thinks - and he's not sure if that is a good thing or not; whether he'll be a good influence or not. Louis is obviously very outgoing and optimistic - an attribute which never hurt anyone - but Zayn's quite quiet, quite shy, quite reserved - will they clash, or is it a simple case of 'opposites attract'? Zayn doesn't want to clash with his roommate, not at all. Then again, he doesn't really want a roommate anyway.

As it happens, however, that should be the least of Zayn's worries. Zayn just doesn't know it, yet.